Lying is a game you play to win
by TurnTheDirtIntoJoy
Summary: AU. For the royal family, appearances are of utmost importance. But when reality takes in, and the past comes back to hunt them, who will be brave enough to fight? Lines have been drawn, and sides must be chosen, because war is on.
1. The heartache of what lies ahead

_**Title: Lying is a game you play to win**_

_**Pairing: Arthur and Morgana (and bits of Arthur and Gwen)**_

_**Synopsis: AU. After a few years of marriage, Arthur and Morgana's union is falling apart. When he dares to invite his new mistress and his wife's greatest rival, Guinevere, to Camelot's court, Morgana refuses to keep quite any longer. She soon realizes that there's more than just her marriage and her honor at stakes since Guinevere appears to be plotting against her life in order to take her place as queen. All the more, the couple has to face a tragic event that will contribute to destroy their marriage even more. With the help of her confident, Merlin, she will fight to keep her place on the throne. As Arthur is struggling to choose between the girl of his dreams and the love of his life, he has to face exterior enemies when war breaks out on Camelot.**_

_**AN: Hey guys ! This is my first story, and it's ArMor ! I fell in love with them in season 1 and i was so disappointed to see what the writers did with them (bro and sis, seriously?). Anyway, i'm a bit of a perfectionist so i may take a lot of time to upload but please be patient xD I pretty much know where this story is going to go but if you have suggestions, please share them :) I really hope you'll like it because i put a lot of time and effort in it. And I did it for you guys :)**_

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><p>Morgana was on a little road connecting the castle to one of the outlying villages. She did not know how she got there, nor where she was heading to. It was morning, that much she knew. She recognized the scent, and the cold breeze of Camelot's winter mornings. She desperately tried to look around her but she was hopelessly blinded by mist. She took a few steps in a random direction, in the hope of finding someone to help her, when suddenly she tripped on something. Something big, and cold. It felt like metal. Yes, it was metal. <em>An armour<em>.

Still lying face down on the cold ground, she turned her head to look at the mysterious object. In less than a second she was on her feet, shaking and screaming. It was indeed an armour, an armour with a dead body inside of it. After a few minutes, she finally managed to calm herself and looked at the corpse. She did not know the man, but she recognized his emblem, for she knew it too well. _A golden dragon._ He must have been one of Arthur's knights, she thought. But what he was doing here, she had no clue.

Kneeling on the ground beside the dead man, she saw the gaping wound going from his right shoulder to the left side of his hip, and she saw the blood, still flooding and warm. He hadn't been dead for long. Morgana took a deep breath, and with all her strength she managed to stand on her feeble legs. She didn't move for a while and kept on watching the rotting corpse as she desperately tried to make sense of all this. "_What happened? How did she get there? Where was everybody?"_

She had been so focused on her thoughts that she hadn't even realized that the mist was almost gone now. She lifted her eyes from the dead knight and looked right in front of her. The shock of what she saw made her feel like she had just been stabbed in her chest and she almost fell to the ground. Bodies, everywhere. As far as the eye can see. And blood. _Oh God, so much blood_. She wanted to scream but no sound could come out of her mouth. She wanted to run, but her legs could no longer carry her.

She did manage to make a few steps backwards, though, but was stopped when her heels met another body. She instinctively turned around to examine the obstacle. With all her might, she tried to forget about the blood and the fact that the knight's head was almost detached from the rest of the body, and she focused on something far more interesting. The emblem. This time it wasn't the golden dragon worn by Camelot's Knights, but it was the long black snake with red eyes and golden dots on it that the knights of Escetia bore.

Escetia was a powerful kingdom ruled by King Cenred that lied near Camelot. Though the two realms were officially at peace, they were more foes than friends and the relationship between the two kings were everything but warm. Morgana was perfectly aware that Arthur didn't trust Cenred and had a few informants inside Cenred's court. And she strongly suspected Escetia's King to have sent some of his men to Camelot as well. As Arthur told her many times "_you can't trust anyone. When you're King, you've got no friends, only rivals."_

She was brought out of her reverie by a painful neigh followed by the noise of hoofs meeting the cold hard ground. Before she could even realize what was happening, the horse brushed past her and kept on galloping towards the dark, thick woods. In a few brief seconds, the animal was out of sight but Morgana could still hear its gut-wrenching song. For the first time in her life, she realized how similar the neigh of a horse was to a screaming human.

Morgana felt the urge to run home, at least what was rest of it. Camelot was standing here, right in front of, but the once strong and proud castle was just a ruin now, a shadow of what it was, and a light smoke escaped from the remains. _"The citadel is impregnable,"_ Arthur kept saying. She swore she would have laughed thinking of the irony of the situation if she wasn't washed out of energy. She just vaguely smiled instead and started walking towards the castle.

The path wasn't easy, Morgana had to wend her way between the dead bodies and she stumbled on her long dress a few times. Though she had only been walking for an hour, she felt like she had been for days, and hunger and thirst weakened her all the more. She had now reached the lower town and the citadel wasn't far anymore. Soon, she thought, everything would get better, she would see Arthur and he would explain her everything. Even if there was a great chance that he had flew the castle or, worse, that he had been killed in the fight, she hold on to the idea that she would soon be with him, because right now, that idea was the only hope she had left.

She was completely absorbed in her thoughts when a sound coming from behind her made her start.

"_Morgana…"_ whispered a voice. She quickly turned around but there was nothing to see.

She opened her mouth, and with a trembling voice asked "Who's there? Show yourself." There was no answer.

Morgana walked to the nearest body, and with a feeble hand, she took the dead man's sword right out of his cold hand. There was blood on it, but she didn't mind. She felt better now, more confident. She was good with a sword, she could protect herself. She refused to waste more time and started walking again.

"_You didn't hear anything. There's no one here. The thirst makes you hallucinate, that's all,"_ she tried to convince herself. But still, she was moving more slowly now, paying attention to every detail, to every noise, and ready to defend herself if someone attacked her.

She was in the citadel's court when she heard the voice again. _"Morgana…"_ it said. She was sure this time, it wasn't the thirst, or the hunger, or the tiredness talking. There was someone there. All her members were shaking, but she was ready for a fight if needs be. Her sword was raised and she had adopted a solid posture.

"Who's here?" she managed to say. "Stop hiding, I know you're here."

She pricked up her ear, in the hope of finally getting an answer. But she heard nothing but the wind.

She was about to climb the steps in front of the entrance when she was swallowed by a strange feeling. She felt like a presence, like she was being watched from behind. She slowly turned around, still holding on to her sword, to face whoever was there. Morgana had thought it would be a knight, or a bandit, but she hadn't expected that.

"Hello, Morgana," said the old friend.

"Guinevere?" Morgana said in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

The two women hadn't seen each other in years, six more precisely. Guinevere was the only daughter of Uther's closest friend and confident, Sir William More and she had been living in Camelot during her entire childhood and adolescence. Though they had spent an awful lot of time together when they were younger, the two girls hated each other. There had always been a kind of sick competition between them, especially for Arthur's affection, and it had become more and more obvious as they grew older. Eventually, to Morgana's great pleasure, Arthur had chosen her and they had gotten married. But she had had little time to savor her victory since, only two weeks after their marriage, Sir More had died and Guinevere had left Camelot. To Morgana's knowledge, she had spent the last six years in the land of the Franks to study their language and find a strategic husband. And now she was standing here, in Camelot's court, holding a beautiful chalice in her hand.

"Morgana, you must drink," said Guinevere and she stretched out her arm so that the cup was only inches away from Morgana.

It gave her the chance to have a closer look: the beaker was in gold and adorned with sapphires and rubies. It truly was a magnificent object.

"What is it?" Morgana asked.

Guinevere ignored the question and simply repeated "You must drink," as she gave her a shy smile.

She had no idea why but Morgana felt attracted to the chalice, and seemed to not be able to take her eyes off of it. She reached out her hand to seize the object and the closer her fingers got to it the better she felt. She was submerged by this strange but amazing feeling of _freedom_ and _peace_.

Nothing else mattered; she forgot the world around her and focused on the cup. Her fingers were almost touching it now, but before they could stroke the cold metal, a familiar voice made itself heard from the entrance of the castle.

"_Don't drink." _

Morgana jolted in surprise and quickly retracted her arm. She was now facing a little five year old boy, her son. His large blue eyes were looking right into her emerald ones, and tears were streaming down his face. The feeling of joy that Morgana felt moments ago faded away and no matter how hard she had tried to hold on to it, it was gone now.

The realization that her five year old son was standing right in front of her at the center of a battlefield, crying, smacked her in the face and she climbed the few steps between them. As soon as she reached him, she took him in her arms and she held him. She held him as if a storm would have swept him away if she hadn't. She finally let go of him and inspected him from head to toe.

"Tommy? What are you doing here alone?" the mother said to her son. "Honey, are you okay? Are you hurt?"

The boy didn't answer but kept staring at his mother with tears-filled eyes. She put her hand on his cheek and the contact made her shiver. His skin was so cold, _deadly_ cold.

"Where's your father?" Morgana asked softly, still desperately hoping to find her husband.

When the word "_father_" came out of her mouth, she saw something in her son's eyes. It was a strange mix of sadness, anger, and something else too. Something she couldn't quite identify. Compassion, it seemed. Yes, compassion.

That's when she understood, her son hadn't answer yet, but she understood. She swore she felt her heart break in thousands little pieces, just like glass. Her vision was blurred by the tears forming in her eyes but she was still able to see what her son did next.

Without looking away from his mother, Thomas Pendragon lifted is arm and pointed at something behind Morgana. She packed up her courage and turned around. The next second she was running down the steps, and through the court.

Her race ended when she reached the cold and inert corpse of her husband and knelt beside him. She let out a scream that broke the unbearable silence left by the dead bodies all around her. Tears were streaming down Morgana's face and left a salty taste on her lips.

Arthur had been stabbed in the stomach but apart from that he didn't seem too scratched. His face, particularly, was intact, and if you focused on it and it only, you could swear he was sleeping.

His eyes were closed, and Morgana was grateful, she couldn't have borne to see them so empty, so dull, so… _dead_. Whenever he had asked her what she liked the most in him, she had always answered his eyes. And when he had asked her why, she had said: "Because when I look in them, I don't see a King, or a Knight. I see a little boy in a man's body." He hated that.

She put a hand on Arthur's cheek and approached her face to leave a gentle kiss on his cold lips. _The last one_, she thought.

The sound of a sword being drawn froze her to the bone, she felt her heart stop and for a second she let the fear swallow her. One second, that's all she was going to give it. When she eventually got on her feet and turned around, she saw a hooded man behind her son, holding a sword to his throat.

"Don't drink, mom," Morgana heard him say.

She ran towards him, desperate to stop what was about to happen but the mysterious man was quicker and stroked Thomas' neck with his sword. Blood spilt out of the wound and Morgana felt her world collapsing all around her.

"NO!" she screamed as she fell to the ground, unable to stand anymore.

She couldn't bring herself to watch her son's body so she just closed her eyes and cried, hoping that God would put an end to her misery.

Morgana had never been a religious person. She remembered that when they were little, Arthur and she had to go to church and learn all about Christianity with an old preacher. His name was Father Lewis, and they hated him. He kept telling Morgana that she would be punished for her sins someday. Though she had always thought it was a bunch of lies, she was now beginning to think that he was right.

When she finally reopened her eyes, after what seemed like hours, she noticed that nothing had changed around her, except that the sun was beating down now.

"Such waste…" Guinevere said from behind her.

The woman was beside Arthur's body, and was stroking his hair as if she wanted to tidy it. Morgana felt a hint of jealousy but she was too numb to even pull up a fight.

Guinevere stood up and after she made sure that her dress wasn't too crumpled, walked towards Morgana, still holding the chalice in her hand. When the two women were only inches away from each other, Gwen offered her hand to her old friend who accepted it.

They were now both standing and facing each other, but none of them was talking.

Morgana finally broke the silence and between to sobs said: "I don't understand. What's going on? What do you want from me?"

"I'm here to help you. You must drink."

Morgana was highly doubtful but the cup seemed to have some kind of power over her.

"What do you have to lose?"

She was right, everything and everyone she cared about was either destroyed or dead. She turned to see her husband's body, and then her son's. Thomas tried to warn her, but maybe he was mistaking.

"If you drink this, you will be with them. I promise you." Guinevere continued.

Suddenly, Morgana took the chalice in her hand and Guinevere's voice echoed in her head _"What do you have to lose?" _But there was another voice too, a friendly voice, and it said _"it will kill you."_ Merlin's voice.

Merlin was one of her closest friends and a great advisor to Arthur. His position at court had never been really clear, but he seemed to not care about it at all. Some thought he was a servant, other thought he was a knight, while other believed he was a sorcerer working for the King. For Morgana, he was just her friend Merlin.

The queen lifted the cup to her lips and drank, ignoring her son's prayers and Merlin's warning. After all, hadn't she spent the last hours crying and praying God to end her life?

She took one sip, then a second, and a third. When she finished the chalice, she dropped it to the floor and waited. She waited but nothing seemed to happen. She looked at Guinevere who was smiling now, but her smile was everything but warm. Morgana took a few steps backwards.

"What did you do to me?" she asked her rival.

Breathing seemed harder now, and every inspiration was more painful than the last. She instinctively brought her hand to her throat but there was nothing she could do, not anymore. And as she was slipping into the abyss, she heard Guinevere's laugh. _God, she hated that laugh._

The last thing she saw was the cloud-free sky and then nothing. Darkness. But she could still hear Merlin's voice calling her name. "Morgana" he said, "Morgana!"

The voice was louder now, as if he was right beside her. The pain was gone, she realized, and the sun wasn't so hot anymore.

"Morgana!" Merlin screamed, and she felt someone shaking her.

When she opened her eyes, the sky was gone, and had been replaced by a ceiling made out of stone. It was her chambers'.

"My lady, are you awake?" Merlin said, still shaking her a little.

"Merlin?" she managed to asked.

"You had a bad dream, Morgana. I was walking through the corridors when I heard you screaming, so I thought I'd wake you up."

It took Morgana a while to register what he was saying, but as soon as she understood she sat up on her bed, now fully awake. Still a bit shook up by her dream, her heart was beating hard in her chest and her head was pounding.

Nightmares weren't something new to her. For as long as she could remember, she had always suffered from a troubled sleep and though Gaius, the court physician, did his best to help her, dreams kept haunting her at night.

Morgana turned to her right but found that the other side of the bed was empty.

"Where's Arthur?" she asked Merlin softly, half awake, half asleep.

Morgana felt the need to share every one of her nightmares with Arthur, because he was the only one who could understand, and he was the only one who knew, just as well as her, that they were always _more_ than dreams, though he would have never admitted it.

"A council." Merlin replied shyly, perfectly aware that this answer would never satisfy his Queen.

"In the middle of the night?" Morgana retorted as she got out of bed.

Merlin tried to figure out the best way to answer this question, but he knew that whatever he'd say, she'd go after Arthur anyway.

He opted for a simple "Yes, urgent matters."

Morgana looked at him with a little smile and raised one of her eyebrows.

"You really are awful at this, you know." she said as she brushed past him and headed to the door.

Merlin knew he had to stop her from leaving her chambers. Arthur's orders were clear. _"I don't care what you do, but keep Morgana away from the dining room, keep her busy."_ he had said. But it was hopeless, Morgana did as she pleased and nobody could command her.

Merlin gave up; he didn't even understand why Arthur had asked him that in the first place. It's not like he was with one of his mistresses, he really had a council. And as far as Merlin knew, Morgana was very involved in Camelot's politics and attended to most of the meetings. He didn't see any reason to keep this one a secret. Unless, there were things Arthur didn't want his wife to know.

"There's nothing I can say to keep you from going?" he tried one last time.

"You know there's not." she replied.

Then she walked through the door, barefoot and wearing nothing but her nightgown.

The corridors were empty, and the only sound that made itself heard was Morgana's steps on the cold ground.

Still a little shook up by her dream, she decided to stop by her son's chambers. She needed to make sure he was okay. _"They're never just dreams"_ she thought.

When she reached the door, she slowly opened it and made sure she didn't wake him up. There was very little light be she could still see him. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Morgana felt the urge to hold him in her arms but she refrained from doing so. Instead, she watched him for a little while.

It didn't matter that her marriage was a _disaster_, her and Arthur had at least succeeded in making something good. He was her pride and joy, and she wouldn't give him away for the world.

"Don't, worry, I'm not gonna let anything happen to you." she whispered softly, so softly that it was barely audible.

After a few minutes, she walked away and closed the door without a noise.

Morgana was now heading to the dining room where most of the councils took place, desperate to finally discover what Merlin had tried to hide her. "_Probably another mistress,_" she thought. She was used to it now, after six years. And oddly enough, she appreciated the fact that Arthur did his best to always keep it a secret.

The dining room was at the junction of two corridors that formed a "T". Morgana wasn't far now – the room was on her right a few meters away – and as she got closer to it, she noticed that the doors were open and she slowed down to focus on the conversation going on inside. Of course, from that distance the voices were almost inaudible – it was more of a buzzing – but as she slowly approached, she managed to identify some of them. There were three men, maybe four, and she easily recognized Arthur among them. _"So he really was in a meeting,"_ she thought.

She pricked her ear up and understood a few bits of the conversation: _"… post them at the boarder…", "…don't do anything until I tell you to…", "…doesn't come out of this room…"_

Morgana stopped walking when she reached the dining room, and turned her head to the right so she could have a look inside.

There were indeed four men, including Arthur who was, as usual, sitting on his royal chair at the end of the table. She recognized two of the men with Arthur: one was Sir Godwin, the most influential member of the King's council; the other was Sir Ellis, the informant in chief at Cenred's court. The third man was unknown to her but he bore the Pendragon emblem. Mysterious documents and what seemed to be a map were on the table.

The three knights were all looking at Arthur, as if they were waiting for him to talk, but the King remained silent, thoughtful, his body resting against the back of his chair, his right elbow on the arm-rest and his index stroking his mouth. The unknown man was standing on his left, while Sir Ellis was sitting on a chair on the right side of the table. Sir Godwin had a hand on the right arm-rest of the king's chair and was leaning towards him to whisper in his ear.

Morgana had a knot in her stomach and fear took hold of her. She didn't like that, _not at all_.

Suddenly, Arthur looked up at her. He was followed by Sir Godwin, then the stranger and finally Sir Ellis turned his head to look at her, but she kept gazing at her husband and he didn't look away either. Of course, the conversation had ended the second he realized she was here and the atmosphere was now palpable.

The couple kept on looking at each other for a few more seconds until Arthur rose from his chair and walked towards her. When Arthur reached her, he gave her a vague smile before he put his hands on each side of the double door and closed it, locking his wife out.

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><p><em><strong>So, what did you think ? I know the fact that the whole chapter was a dream is a bit disappointing because the story is not moving forward. But i gave you a lot of hints of what's to come in the following chapters (Gwen, the war, and other stuff that i'm not going to mention because it would ruin it). Anyway, please review, it would mean the world to me :) One last thing, if i made some english mistakes, please tell me :)<strong>_


	2. Teach me passion for I fear it's gone

_**Title: Lying is a game you play to win**_

_**Pairing: Arthur and Morgana (and bits of Arthur and Gwen)**_

_**Synopsis: AU. After a few years of marriage, Arthur and Morgana's union is falling apart. When he dares to invite his new mistress and his wife's greatest rival, Guinevere, to Camelot's court, Morgana refuses to keep quite any longer. She soon realizes that there's more than just her marriage and her honor at stakes since Guinevere appears to be plotting against her life in order to take her place as queen. All the more, the couple has to face a tragic event that will contribute to destroy their marriage even more. With the help of her confident, Merlin, she will fight to keep her place on the throne. As Arthur is struggling to choose between the girl of his dreams and the love of his life, he has to face exterior enemies when war breaks out on Camelot.**_

_**AN: Hey guys ! I'm so sorry for not updating sooner, i was so busy and inspiration came and went. But finally, here it is! And it's pretty long. I hope you'll like it. I'd like to thank you all for reading, reviewing, and subscribing. You have no idea how much it means to me. Special thanks to April (ElectricEnchantment) who helped me with some grammar mistakes and who's been very kind to me. She also writes ArMor fics, so if you haven't read her stories, you should :) They're amazing. One last thing, i made a trailer for this story. It's available on my Youtube channel: TurnTheDirtIntoJoy. Enjoy.**_

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><p>The first rays of sunlight were shining down on Camelot and lighting the royal chambers through the thick window-panes. Unable to go back to sleep, Morgana had stayed up all night waiting for Arthur's return. It had been hours now, but still no sign of him.<p>

She was looking out the window, her back resting against the stone wall. The dazzling glow of dawn had now prevailed over the shadows of the night and the city was slowly waking up. There was little bustle for now but soon people would be attending to their usual business: women would be carrying laundry tubs to the river or sweeping the ground in front of their houses, children would be running and playing, and men would be leaving their houses and families to go to work. Deep inside her, Morgana envied them.

She turned around when she heard the door opening slowly. Arthur entered the room quietly, trying his best not to make a noise.

"Good morning," she declared, to inform him of her presence, since he clearly hadn't noticed her.

He gasped in surprise and said "Oh, good morning. I didn't think you'd be awake. It's early."

He joined her by the window and leaned towards her to leave a gentle kiss on her cheek. He could feel the velvet of her white skin under his lips and his heart melted. _What happened to them_?

"You look nice," he whispered in her ear before heading to the table to pour himself a glass of wine.

"Don't you think it's a bit early for that?" she asked, shooting him an angry look.

"Come on Morgana, I have been up all night," he said between two sips. Arthur sighed and let himself fall on the nearest chair. "I need a reward," he joked, to lighten the atmosphere a little.

He cast a look at her and realized that "_nice_" wasn't the right word to describe her, "_pure perfection_" was a more accurate term. Morgana was slender of build, and her skin was as pale as snow and as soft as silk. She had long raven hair that she often wore half up, her curls tumbling down her back. At first glance, Morgana appeared to be the perfect image of royalty: strong, proud, charismatic and strikingly beautiful. She wasn't very tall, but still she had this imposing presence that caused anyone looking upon her to be reduced to nothing at her feet.

"So, what was this mysterious council about?" Morgana asked as she sat on the other side of the table, putting an end to his silent contemplation. "It must have been pretty important for it to be held in the middle of the night."

"No, nothing important," he lied. "Just bandit attacks."

She nodded and he drank another sip. That was their life now: secrets and lies, distance and mistrust. They both knew he wasn't telling the truth, yet they both acted like they believed it entirely.

Morgana kept her stare fixed on Arthur, trying to read his face and detect the lies in his eyes but his gaze was shifty.

"Sir Ellis was there," she said, still staring at him to see his reaction. "Is there a problem with Cenred?"

The prince finally looked at her. He was perfectly aware of what she was trying to do, asking what appeared like innocent questions to try to discover some hidden agenda. _She wanted to play, fine_. He would play with her then. But he had no intention of letting her win. He couldn't tell her the truth, not now, not until he knew for sure.

He gave her a broad smile and said "Not at all."

Morgana returned his grin and stood up.

"Then what was he doing here?" she inquired with a fake detachment in her voice, trying to sound as if she couldn't care less. "He is your informant at Cenred's court, is he not?"

"Indeed he is," he retorted, doing his best not to let anything show as she took a few steps towards him. "We have been tracking those outlaws for days now, and Sir Ellis came to inform me that they had crossed Escetia's border."

She was standing behind him now, her hands resting on the back of his chair.

"And it was so urgent that he couldn't have waited until morning to come and tell you?" she asked with an accusing tone in her voice.

Her hands slowly moved from the chair to Arthur's shoulders and started massaging them. _"God, she is good,"_ he thought. But he was even _better_.

"He wanted to travel unnoticed," he replied as he began to relax under Morgana's fingers. "Cenred would have realized his absence during the day."

"Of course," she retorted with a forced smile.

She suddenly let go of his shoulders and sat back on her chair, knowing there was nothing more she could do or say. She had lost this game.

Arthur could see the anger in her eyes as she drank from her goblet. _Point to him_, he decided. But it wasn't over, he knew that. It was only a matter of time until his lies caught up with him.

For a while, they just sat there and let the silence linger. After six years of marriage, they didn't have much left to say to each other, and, over time, Morgana had learnt to enjoy those quiet moments. It was so peaceful and, strangely, _so intimate_.

In an impulse of tenderness, she reached for his hand and squeezed it. There were times like this when she felt like trying, when she felt like what they had was worth fighting for. He raised his gaze to meet hers and she was swallowed in his deep blue eyes.

As she looked at him, she realized he hadn't changed much over the years; only lines at the corner of his mouth seemed to have deepened with sorrow and regrets. It was as if every line on his face, every wrinkle and every scar, bore witness to his every doings. Self-absorption, arrogance, and pride were written all over his outrageously young face. And in the middle of this dreadful mix, was something indefinable. Something between self-loathing and guilt, like a strange sense of inadequacy.

As Morgana watched Arthur's life unfold before her, she found herself wondering what her features said about her. Was it loneliness that people saw when they looked into her emerald eyes? Could they see her anger in the shape of her mouth? Feel her despair in the sound of her voice?

"So," Arthur said as he freed his hand from his wife's grip. "What did you want to talk to me about last night? Merlin said you were looking for me."

Suddenly, her face hardened and she frowned as the vision flashed back into her mind. She remembered the bodies, and the revolting scent of death. She remembered her husband lying on the ground, and she remembered the blood leaving her son's body. And most of all, she remembered the poison, she could taste it in her mouth, she could feel it in her veins.

"I had a dream," she blurted out, her mind still lost in thought. "It was so… so horrible…"

Arthur was one of the few people Morgana was able to openly talk to about her nightmares, and it had always been this way. Even when they were little, she used to crawl into his bedchambers at night whenever she had had a bad dream and they stayed up all night talking about nothing and everything, inventing a world of their own.

After a few years, they had both come to the conclusion that they were never just dreams anymore. What they were? _They had no idea_. Visions? Warnings? They preferred not to put a name on it; they preferred not to speak of it out loud. It was far too scary.

"What did you see?" Arthur asked with concern in his voice.

Morgana took a deep breath as to reorganize her thoughts but no matter how hard she focused, her mind was a mess, and images kept flashing in front of her eyes.

"There was a war… Here. In Camelot," her voice was breaking over the words. "Between you and Cenred. And… we had lost."

She cast a glance at Arthur but she saw no apparent reaction on his face.

"The castle was a ruin," she continued. "And there were dead bodies everywhere. Everywhere I went. And… you were one of them."

Suddenly, he rose from his chair and walked to the window. Morgana followed him with her eyes, not sure if she should go on with her tale or not. His face was a mask, void of all emotion.

"It's just a dream," he whispered, his eyes never leaving the window-pane.

His words hit her like a slap in the face. Yet, she had heard them so many times before. When she was little, she used to run to her father every time she had a nightmare, and as he hugged her, he whispered in her ear _"It's just a dream". _When she reached adolescence, she used to come to Gaius for advice whenever she felt like her nightmares were trying to tell her something. But the old man kept mumbling the same lie over and over again: _"it's just a dream"_. And every time, she had to smile and nod, as if that was all she needed to hear, as if her heart wasn't secretly screaming for help.

Yes, she had heard those words so many times before. But never from Arthur's lips. He was the only one who had always believed her, who had never thought she was crazy. And to hear him say that now, it simply shattered her heart.

"Do you really believe that?" she asked, confused by his sudden change of mood. He had become so good at lying over the years, Morgana couldn't even tell if he meant it or not.

"Yes," he simply replied in a steady voice, as he kept his back to her. "Cenred would never attack us."

"Why not?" she inquired. "They're outnumbered two to one. Cenred knows Camelot's weak since your father's death. The kingdom's divided and the army is sure as hell not ready for a fight. If he were to declare war on Camelot… then I fear for us all."

Despite her good points, Arthur was impassive and he simply repeated, as if trying to convince himself, "He won't attack us."

"You're impossible," her voice was scathing and she sighed in disbelief. "Look at me."

He turned around slowly, and leaned against the window.

"Cenred believes that the citadel is impregnable," he started.

"But is it really?" Morgana cut him.

"It doesn't matter," he continued, "all that matters is that he's convinced it is. He wouldn't risk his men's lives if he wasn't sure the war was already won. And he's not."

"And you're putting your faith in that?" she asked as if it was the silliest thing she had ever heard.

"What other choice do I have?" he whispered. "Look Morgana, for now, we have no reason to believe he will strike. And I'm sorry but I'm not gonna prepare my men to a war that might never happen just because you had a dream."

"I'm not asking you to," she said as she got up. She walked towards him, narrowing the distance between them. She was looking at him straight in the eyes. "All I want to know is, if war does break out, would we be ready?"

Arthur looked away and his jaw tightened. She frowned, waiting for his answer. But it never came.

He brushed past her but she grabbed his arm, keeping him from escaping and forcing him to face her.

"Arthur…" she breathed bitterly.

She slowly, carefully, tenderly, put her hand on his cheek, and for a second, maybe two, he closed his eyes.

"What is it you're not telling me?" she asked in a whisper, but really, it sounded more like a prayer.

There was still a vivid spark in her; she still felt something for him. What was it? _Love? Respect? Duty? Fear?_ Was it only the time flying by or was there something else that drew them apart? She just wanted a chance to chase away her fears and her doubts, and finally have the strength to try to figure this out, instead of digging the gap between them. _It wasn't supposed to be like this._

Arthur grabbed her wrist and took her hand off his face. He did not squeeze too hard, though; he could never hurt her, not _physically._

"Nothing," he said. "Just stop worrying."

He let go of her arm and walked towards the bed where a clean red shirt was waiting for him, carefully folded and thoughtfully prepared by Morgana. He removed the one he was wearing and replaced it with this one.

Morgana had returned to her usual spot by the window and was holding a cup of water in her hand.

Arthur had always wondered what she could possibly be looking at. "Why do you keep gazing out the window?" he had asked one day, "There's nothing to see out there." Her answer had been as cryptic and incomprehensible as her. "What matters is not what your eyes can see," she had replied with a smile, "It's what your mind can imagine."

"I have to go," he declared, "Busy day ahead."

He walked to the table and emptied his glass.

"You promised Thomas you'd take him riding," she said, as she turned away from the window to face him.

He sighed heavily and cursed inwardly.

"Oh, right. I forgot," he said between clenched teeth. He had his hand on the top his head and he felt like pulling his own hair. God, he hated himself right now.

"Of course you did," Morgana muttered to herself. She wasn't surprised, not that she doubted Arthur loved his son – of course he did – but she knew he didn't have much time for his family. _He never had time._

"Could you…" he began, "Could you tell him I'm sorry?"

He couldn't bring himself to look at her, to face her disapproving gaze, so he just stared at his feet.

"Yeah, I will," she agreed. "He's going to be very disappointed, though. He was looking forward to spending the day with you."

"I know," he murmured, his heart heavy with sorrow.

Arthur was perfectly aware that he wasn't the best father in the world, but he did his best. And with a father like his, who could blame him? He didn't have a clue what a father figure should be like. His relationship with Uther had always been conflicted, and Arthur had got used to being on his own quite early in his life. The King had never spent much time with his son, playing, or talking and he had certainly never hugged him. All the little prince had ever wanted was for his father to be proud, for him to say "I love you, and I'm proud of you. You're going to be a great King someday. And, no, you're not to blame for your mother's death." But he had never said it. Not once. Not even on his deathbed. Was it too much to ask? To be lifted of this burden that had haunted him his entire life, this crippling feeling that he just wasn't good enough? When the last breath of life left the old King's body, Arthur made a vow. He made the solemn promise never to make the same mistakes.

"I'll take him riding tomorrow," he said. "I promise."

Morgana sighed and shook her head. "Don't make promises you won't keep, Arthur."

"I _will_ take him riding, _tomorrow_," his answer was loud and clear, and he had made sure to insist on _will_ and _tomorrow_. "Tell him that."

"You know what?" Morgana began, getting slightly annoyed by his attitude. "Why don't you go tell him? Why don't you stop by his chambers on your way to your council?"

"Morgana," he sighed. "I don't have time for that."

"Then I suggest you _make_ time!" she shouted.

"For what?" he cried in anger. "So we can fight some more?"

Morgana didn't retaliate; she knew it'd be no good. Instead she just stood there, staring at him, her arms folded on her chest. Arthur buried his face in his hands and sighed heavily.

"I have to go," he said. "We'll talk tonight, if you want."

He leaned to her and left a soft kiss on her lips, but she did not return it. Her body tensed at the touch, her lips remained lifeless, and the sweet taste of wine in his mouth repulsed her.

Morgana stood still as he headed towards the door, but when he finally reached it, she said: "You're looking more and more like your father."

Arthur had stopped walking, but he hadn't turned around. She was waiting for him to speak, to shout, to slam the door, but he remained still.

Uther had been a great King, and a great warrior. He had conquered Camelot, and built one of the greatest kingdoms ever from nothing, from scratch. Arthur _wanted _to be like his father, but he also found it to be a _terrifying_ prospect.

Morgana didn't dare to move, and kept her gaze fixed on his back. She did her best to look confident, as if she perfectly assumed what she had just done, though she had regretted saying those words the moment they had come out of her mouth. But she had no choice, to admit otherwise would be a sign of weakness. Her eyes, however, were betraying her, they were pleading, fearful, and they begged Arthur to do something. _Anything._

He took a deep breath, and left the room, without even casting a look at his wife.

A week had passed, and no mention had been made of Morgana's dream, of the mysterious council or of any war whatsoever. Arthur took his son riding the next day, as promised, and things went on just as usual.

The couple woke up in the morning, and after exchanging a few trivialities, they both got ready for breakfast. Morgana was always the last one to arrive in the dining room, where she often found Arthur and Thomas already eating and laughing. Then, while the King attended to his day-to-day activities and Thomas spent the day with his private tutor, Morgana did her best to occupy her time and escape from boredom. The evening come, she had supper with her son, most of the time having to stare at an empty chair where Arthur should be sat. Once her son was asleep, she came back to her chambers and waited for her husband to return. When he finally did, he always poured himself a glass of wine and asked Morgana about her day. She always answered "_Same old, and yours?"_ and he always replied "_Same old_". Finally, they both went to bed, and fell asleep entangled in each other's arms. _More from habit than anything else_, Morgana told herself.

It was actually a quiet life Morgana had, not that she complained, it just wasn't what she had imagined it would be like to be Queen of Camelot.

Night had fallen on Camelot, and the whole court was gathered in the banquet room for one of the greatest feast ever thrown by the royal family. The place was splendidly decorated: there were candles burning everywhere, lighting the hall of a beautiful brightness. Flower arrangements made of lilies and red roses had been settled on every table and every column, and at the end of the room, on the wall behind the royal table, was hung a gorgeous red fabric with three big golden dragons on it.

Tables were covered with food, and wine flowed. The crowd cheered and laughed, some danced while some had trouble standing on their feet after having drunk a considerable amount of alcohol. Men thrust out their chests trying to attract the ladies attention. And the ladies, who had all put on their most sophisticated gowns, giggled like teenagers whenever a handsome knight casted a look at them.

Morgana was sat on her usual chair on the left of the royal table and watched this spectacle unfold in front of her eyes.

When she was younger, she used to love this kind of celebrations where she could wear her most fabulous dresses, dance with men she didn't even know, and be courted by the most delightful knights of the kingdom_, including Arthur_. But things were different now, Arthur didn't court her anymore, and men did not dare to invite her to dance or even compliment her on her dress for fear that the King might send them to the stocks.

Her eyes looked for Arthur and found him with ease. He was standing on the right side of the room, a goblet in his hand, and Merlin by his side. He was irradiating in a halo of kingly glory, and it truly was a magnificent sight.

Arthur and Morgana's eyes met when he turned his head towards her. Morgana forced a smile – she didn't want him to believe she wasn't enjoying herself – he returned it and nodded to her. Then he turned his attention back to Merlin.

"She looks really beautiful tonight," he whispered in the King's ear.

"She _always_ does," Arthur replied dryly as he drank a sip from his cup.

"I think you should tell her," the young servant advised him after casting another glance at his Queen. "She can handle the truth."

"I don't remember asking you for your opinion, Merlin," the King snapped, but there was no contentiousness in his voice.

"She'll never forgive you if she finds out you have deceived her," Merlin warned him in a serious voice, looking him straight in the eyes.

Arthur's brow furrowed, and for a moment he seemed like he was about to throw his servant in the dungeon. But then, his features softened and he burst out laughing. Merlin looked at him in bewilderment, wondering what he had said that was so funny.

"Merlin," Arthur said as he put his right hand on his friend's shoulder," You seem to forget that Morgana and I are married, which makes deception _absolutely necessary_. I don't need to know what she does with her time, and she doesn't need to know what I do with mine. When we meet, we put on our most serious faces and tell each other the most absurd stories. She's actually very good at it – much better than I am. I always get confused over my dates. But even when she knows I'm lying, she doesn't make a row, and acts like it's entirely believable."

On the other side of the room, still sat on her chair, Morgana was facing an intern dilemma on whether or not she should go back to her chambers when a voice brought her out of her reverie.

"Enjoying the entertainment?" asked a voice sporting a delightful Irish accent.

Morgana turned her head to her left were the mysterious stranger was standing. The man was just as delightful as his accent, she realized. He had brown half-length hair tumbling down his nape and a three-day growth beard that brought out his masculinity. His eyes were brown as well, with a hint of playfulness in them. Morgana noticed he was dressed in the usual knight uniform: chainmail, red cape, and leather gloves.

"I'm sorry, you are?" she inquired, confused.

She was surprised that one of Arthur's knights dared talk to her. They knew the King was very possessive; he had made it pretty clear. Whenever a man seemed to close to her at a feast, Arthur usually made him practice twice as hard the next day, and only sent him on the most pointless missions.

The stranger gave her a charming smile and introduced himself: "I'm Sir Gwaine."

Very delicately, he took her hand in his and brought it to his lips.

"_At your service."_

Morgana felt the blood rushing to her cheeks. Was she- was she _blushing_? She hadn't been courted in so long. Gwaine let go of her hand and sat beside her on Arthur's chair. She didn't say anything, but gazed at her husband to make sure he wasn't watching. He wouldn't have liked this.

"See, I was standing on the other side of the room when I first beheld you," he told her, "and I couldn't help but wonder: how can such beautiful eyes like yours be so sad?"

"I'm not sad," she retorted with a smile.

"Well, you're certainly not happy either," he told her, his gaze never leaving hers. "I guess it's true what they're saying."

"And what are they saying?" she asked, with a growing curiosity.

"That the most beautiful are always doomed," he answered, as he took a cup of wine on the table before him. "The ugly get the best in this world. They can do as they please, and nobody cares. They don't know what it's like to _have_; they don't know what it's like to _lose_. If they know nothing of _victory_, then they are spared the knowledge of _defeat_."

"That's an interesting point of view," she said, getting more and more captivated by the man in front of her, "but one I do not share."

"And do you want to know what is said about you?" he asked, sweeping aside the previous topic of the conversation.

He went on without leaving her the chance to answer: "That you are the most beautiful woman the world has ever known, but when people see you, it is not your beauty that strikes them; it is your _broken heart_, lying dead on the ground before you."

Morgana remained quiet, stunned by what she had just heard. To be honest, she felt a little bit insulted. She was more than just a pretty face: she was strong, and fiercely independent. She never hesitated to stand up for what she believed in her heart to be right. She was feisty and cheeky and had proven to be a very skilled swordswoman. But most of all, she refused to be labeled as the eternally unhappy woman. Her marriage was a mess, but _she was not_.

"And now, here's what I think about you," he continued. "I think you know your marriage is over, but you just won't admit it to yourself. And every morning, you wake up and you tell yourself _'Everything's gonna be okay, we can still work this out._' But the truth is you can't help but feeling like he's drifting away from you and you are desperately trying to silence that voice inside your head, that's growing louder every day and that's saying _'we're growing apart, I'm losing him'_."

She was having a hard time containing her rage. Who was he to talk to her like this? _To judge her?_ He didn't know anything about her or Arthur for that matter.

"Can I ask you a question?" Gwaine asked just as she was about to defend herself.

"Alright," she agreed, though she was getting slightly uncomfortable. "But I don't promise to answer it."

"Why did you marry him when it seems to make you so unhappy?" he snapped, his eyes staring at her.

"Because I love him," she replied simply, as if the answer was obvious.

"Love him or admire him?"

"I didn't know the two were incompatible."

"So both then?" Gwaine asked, and he raised one of his eyebrows.

"I love the _man_, I admire the _king_," Morgana retorted with no hesitation.

Gwaine let out a little laugh, and she cursed him inwardly.

"Then you ought to be happy with him," he concluded after taking another sip of wine.

"Love is not _always_ enough," fell as a warning from her pretty lips.

"Nonsense!" he exclaimed. "Love should always be enough. It should be _everything_."

Morgana's mouth twisted in a smirk. Was she being skeptical or was he being delusional? Unless it was both.

"Tell me, Sir," she began, as she put her cup down on the table before her. "Have you ever been in love?"

Gwaine grinned from ear to ear.

"Many times," he replied. "Too many times, if you ask me."

"Then you've never really loved, I fear," she said, shaking her head.

She leaned a bit closer to him, as if she was about to reveal a secret that no one else around them should hear.

"I'm talking about a love so _strong_, so _bad_, that it tears you apart, breaks you in pieces. A love that knows no end, a love that escapes your control and seizes you, which engulfs your entire being, inhales your very soul."

"Funny, that's exactly how I would have described hate," he answered.

"_Love, hate_- It's really not that different."

Gwaine's laugh rang out in the entire hall, and oddly, Morgana couldn't help but smile. She found herself enjoying the man's company. He was _different_. Sure, he was arrogant and a little too confident for his own sake, but he was also carefree, funny and smart.

"You know what you should do?" he asked with a smile on his face. "You should leave Arthur, and be with me."

Morgana let out a small laugh and said: "Is that your advice, Sir Gwaine? You suggest me to leave my husband and my home for a perfect strang-"

She was cut by the sound of a knife banging on a cup. Morgana turned her head towards the middle of the room, where Arthur was standing, a goblet in one hand, a knife in the other, about to make a speech.

"I know since my father died two years ago, things haven't been easy for us all," the King began. "But seeing you all today, celebrating and laughing, I feel like the worst is behind us. Will there be more obstacles? Of course there will. But we will overcome them _together_. I don't know what tomorrow will bring, but _tonight_, I have hope."

Morgana was staring at Arthur, her eyes never leaving his beautiful face. He was a great soldier, and a charismatic leader. The loyalty his subjects had for him knew no bounds – mostly because he would never put the life of his men before his own – and in exchange, Arthur had a deep respect for his subjects.

"Now," Arthur went back on. "I have a surprise for you all."

At that moment, his eyes fell on Morgana, and remained there for a few seconds. There was something on his face, she realized, something she did not like at all. She knew this look; she had seen it too many times before. It meant _"I'm sorry. I'm sorry to hurt you like this."_ He looked away and her bright smile faded away.

"Camelot welcomes a new guest tonight," Arthur announced. "Someone you all know and miss. The Lady Guinevere!"

Suddenly, it was as if the roar of the crowd and the echo of their hands clapping were thousands miles away from Morgana. And in that muffled silence, she saw her, _her worst nightmare_, standing near the entrance to the hall. She was wearing a beautiful purple dress, with gilts on his neckline and a thin silver belt. She had a chocolate skin that matched her long curly brown hair and her dark eyes. She truly shone.

Morgana's nightmare flashed back into her mind, as well as all these years of enmity that lied behind her and Guinevere. And she found herself wondering what should scare her the most: the _future_ or the _past_?

Her gaze looked for Arthur, but did not find him. She could feel the tears forming in her eyes, longing to stream down her face. She would not let them fall. Not for that. Not for him. _Not anymore_.

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><p><em><strong>So, what did you think of it? I know there wasn't much action but i really wanted to present the situation and the characters first. Oh, and Gwen's here! Things are going to get ugly! By the way, i know a lot of you don't like thay way Arthur is portrayed in that story. I know, he really looks like an ass. But he's not as bad as he looks. He's just having a hard time coping with his father's death and all. He's just in a dark phase. Everything will be explained :) Anyway, please review, feedback is always appreciated. Good or bad (though i prefer good xD).<strong>_


	3. Games people play

_**Title: Lying is a game you play to win**_

_**Pairing: Arthur and Morgana (and bits of Arthur/Gwen and Merlin/Morgana)**_

_**Synopsis: AU. After a few years of marriage, Arthur and Morgana's union is falling apart. When he dares to invite his new mistress and his wife's greatest rival, Guinevere, to Camelot's court, Morgana refuses to keep quite any longer. She soon realizes that there's more than just her marriage and her honor at stakes since Guinevere appears to be plotting against her life in order to take her place as queen. All the more, the couple has to face a tragic event that will contribute to destroy their marriage even more. With the help of her confident, Merlin, she will fight to keep her place on the throne. As Arthur is struggling to choose between the girl of his dreams and the love of his life, he has to face exterior enemies when war breaks out on Camelot.**_

_**AN: Hey guys ! I'm so sorry for the long delay in updating but i've been incredibly busy with school and real life and all. Besides, inspiration kept coming and going... Anyway, i have not given up on this story, i'm just really slow. But finally, here it is! And to make up for the long wait, it's really long. I hope you don't mind. A big thanks to everyone who reviewed, suscribed and favorited. It really means a lot and it gives me the motivation to go on. Once again, special thanks to April (ElectricEnchantment) for everything she's done and for putting up with me xD Enjoy :)**_

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><p>It was early morning, and the castle was drowned in a deep silence. Rain had fallen all night, sprinkling the city with thousands of divine tears, and the sky had roared, echoing a dreadful melody that had kept the citadel awake long after the feast ended. But eventually, the rain had eased, the storm had ended, and the castle had dried up – as well as Morgana's eyes. Shafts of light were now piercing the mist, bringing the thick forests and green fields of Camelot back to life.<p>

In one of the citadel's corridors, in the western wing of the castle, two serving girls, one middle-aged and the other much younger, were trying their best to stifle their roars of laughter as they innocently gossiped about last night's entertainment. They talked about the blossoming relationship between Lady Mary and Sir Isaac, who hadn't stop cooing all evening. They both raved about Lady Elaine's black silk dress imported from a faraway country. And, of course, they drooled over Camelot's new knight, Sir Gwaine. But eventually, the conversation moved to a more delicate topic.

"Did you see the look on the Queen's face when the Lady Guinevere made her entrance?"

"Poor girl," said the elder. "Having to face such humiliation."

"The King must be the only man in Camelot not in love with his wife. The world is at her feet, if only she realized it."

The two woman were cut by the sound of footsteps coming from behind them at fast pace. They turned around, only to see Morgana, a few meters away, striding along, determination and anger written on her face. The serving girls moved back to allow her to pass, and as she brushed past them, they both bowed respectfully and murmured "Your Highness", never making eye-contact with their Queen.

Morgana didn't grant them any attention and kept on walking. Anger was boiling inside her. After his announcement last night, she had searched for Arthur but had not found him. He had probably gone hide to avoid a confrontation with her, he always did. _Arthur, the brave_, they called him. If only they knew him.

Morgana turned right, then left, and climbed down a few steps. She opened a wooden door and reached one of the open corridors. She slowed her pace as the sun dazzled her and the cold froze her to the bone. The slight winter breeze caressed her face, and her luminescent hair flickered in the wind. She resumed her walk as she caught sight of Merlin, talking to one of the knights a few feet away, near the entrance to the castle.

When she reached him, she grabbed him violently by the arm, snatching him from his conversation, and pulled him closer to her.

"Where is he?" she snapped.

Merlin looked at her hand, gripping his arm, then back at her eyes. They were bloodshot and had rings under them, but apart from that Morgana looked rapturously beautiful – _as always_. She was wearing a gorgeous red dress – red, _Arthur's favorite color_, Merlin thought – with a golden belt around her waist. She had added a black fur coat on her shoulders, to shield her from the cold.

"In the council room," he replied, but regretted it afterwards.

Morgana let go of his arm and entered the castle. After a second of hesitation, Merlin followed her, realizing she was likely to make a scene in front of Camelot's most influential men. But she was walking so fast he had trouble keeping up.

"Morgana," he called, but she turned a deaf ear and kept on walking.

He made a few giant strides and caught her arm, making her turn around on her heels.

"Let go of me," she growled, narrowing her eyes at him.

"This is not a good idea, Morgana," Merlin advised her. "You'll talk to him later. In _private_."

"Who are _you_ to tell me what to do?" she scolded as she yanked off her arm and freed herself from his grip.

Merlin didn't dwell on her last remark, knowing it was just anger talking, and let his eyes linger on her as she started to walk away. _She could have been magnificent_, he thought.

He bent down to pick up her fur coat that she had dropped during their little altercation, and went after her.

Arthur was standing in the council room, his hands intertwined in his back, his mind lost in thought, and his eyes gazing away in the distance. He was facing one of the huge windows and enjoying the sweet warmth of the sun on his face. He closed his eyes, and as he let the light swallow him, his mind began to wander in the deepest corners of his imagination. Morgana and him were sixteen again, it was a hot summer day, and they were lying in the grass near a lake.

"Sir?" asked a voice behind him.

Unfortunately for him, the reality was still very much present.

"Yes," he replied as he re-opened his eyes and turned around to face the dozen councilors sat at the table.

"What is your command, your Highness?" asked Sir Leon, Arthur's most loyal and trusted knight.

The King didn't speak right away and his face revealed an indescribable expression. But, finally, he turned to one of his men and said in a steady voice:

"Godwin, take four men with you and go to Mercia. Make sure Bayard remembers the terms of our treaty."

The man nodded in agreement and Arthur turned to another one of his shining knights.

"Edmund," he went on. "You're now in charge of the surveillance of our border with Escetia. You'll leave tomorrow at first light with thirty men. Elyan, you will travel north, and make sure we can trust King Lot."

He issued his command with authority and charisma, and men drank in his words. Not many doubted his strength but many doubted his wisdom. Some said him too young, or lacking of experience. Some said him impetuous or feckless. But in those glorious moments, an ineluctable reality slowly was taking shape and, soon, no doubt would remain: _he was ready_.

"I want eyes and ears everywhere," the King went on. "If you learn anything, hear anything, or see anything suspicious, do not send a raven. All communications must be made in person. If you're asked questions, do not answer them. This matter remains secret until I say otherwise. Understood?"

They all nodded, knowing it was probably the best thing to do. Sure, it was not going to be easy lying to their friends, their families, – their wives –, but until they knew for sure what was really going on, it was best not to frighten the people.

"Richard," Arthur said as he looked at the man in question. "I want you to visit our finest blacksmith and ask him t-…"

He was cut by Morgana, slamming the door open, Merlin right behind her.

All eyes were upon her, but she couldn't care less. "You cannot marry Morgana, Arthur," Uther had said the night of their engagement. His hand resting on his son's shoulder, he had tried to warn him: "I love her as if she was my own daughter – you know I do – but she is not right for you. She can't control herself; she's driven by her emotions. And, in all honesty, I think you bring out the worst in each other. Trust me son, she is no Queen."

_And maybe he had been right_.

"How could you do this?" she cried in anger, as she took giant steps in his direction, rage apparent on her face.

"Morgana," Arthur began, as he dismissed his men with a wave of his hand. "This is not a good time."

"So now you want to keep your personal matters _private_," she spat. "How delicate of you."

Knights and councilors exchanged awkward looks before they stood to leave. Leon was the last, and as he passed by Merlin who was standing by the door, the fur still in his hand, he gave him a little tap on the shoulder and said with a smile: "You should stay. You know, in case they kill each other."

But Merlin didn't laugh, afraid it _might_ actually happen – and he was convinced that one day, it _would_.

As soon as she reached Arthur, Morgana started hitting his chest with her clenched fists using whatever strength she had left, and then, she started kicking him too, no shred of sanity left in her.

"Stop it, Morgana," he asked calmly, as if he was trying to tame a wild horse.

But she beat him even harder, his words only fueling her fury. She kicked and screamed, while he remained impassive, as if oblivious to pain.

She was like a little girl fighting with her weak hands against a marble wall, and her porcelain fists began to hurt by dint of beating his strong body. Her fingernails were digging deep into her flesh and her palms were beginning to crack, but still, she didn't falter. She hung on to her anger, because right now, that was the only thing that prevented her from drowning into a salty sea of tears.

"Morgana…" Arthur breathed as he made his first move.

He grabbed hold of her wrists and plunged his deep – _so deep_ – blue eyes in hers.

_It was all it took._

Her walls collapsed, wrath fled form her eyes, and she was left with nothing but an aching pain in her chest.

She had sought him to speak, but now that he was before her, words seemed to escape her, like sand through her hand. What was there to say anyway? From the moment she met him, when she came live in Camelot after her father's death, she knew he would bring her nothing but heartache. And yet, she had foolishly exposed her chest to the dagger that was destined to condemn her to a slow and painful agony. A beautiful dagger, certainly, but a lethal one, nonetheless.

At the sight of her wet eyes and blank expression, Arthur felt his guilt eating away at him, and he loosened his grip. Taking advantage of his moment of weakness, Morgana slapped him violently across the face. Her hand collided with his cheek with such fierceness and force that a red blotch began to appear on his skin.

His jaw tightened, his fingers closed in a tight fist, and no matter how hard he tried to regain his composure, Morgana could tell he was burning with a desire for retaliation. She held his glare, daring him, always provoking. _Do it_, her eyes screamed, _do it and I'll have one more reason to hate you_.

But he didn't. Summoning his self-control, he smothered the fire inside him, not giving in to his raging urges. His teeth slackened, his face softened, and pain replaced anger in his eyes.

Arthur took a step towards her, but Morgana raised her arm and pointed a finger at him, trying to stop him from getting any closer.

"Don't," she growled as she took a few steps backwards.

Her thin arm was a weak barrier to his will, though, and soon, his strong arm encircled her waist and he embraced her from behind. She squealed and tried to pull away from his grasp but she was the prisoner of his strength.

"Calm down…" Arthur whispered in her ear before kissing the bend of her neck.

The more she tried to fight him, the more his arms tightened around her waist. She gasped and begged him to release her but soon, a first tear streamed down her face and she knew she had lost. She struggled for a few more seconds but yielded eventually.

Her muscles relaxed, and her whole body started wobbling. Arthur could hear her heart beating a frantic pace, and her breathing getting harder and harder. Morgana broke down and cried without restraint, letting her armor melt down in her tears. He tried to soothe her, whispering sweet words in her ear and leaving kisses on her shoulder, but her sobs only grew heavier with each passing second.

When her legs were too feeble to carry her, Morgana simply let herself fall on the ground. Arthur followed her, crouching behind her, and never letting go of her waist. He drew her closer to him, and held her with all the strength in his arms.

"Why are you doing this?" she said between two sobs, her voice hoarse and broken.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"I hate you," she snapped back, and it sounded almost like a promise.

Down on her bended knees, she let the tears roll freely on her delicate figure. They felt warm, and her turmoil, strangely familiar. Arthur breathed her hair, and a sweet scent caressed his nostrils, sending shivers to his spine: lavender. _She always smelled like lavender_.

Merlin stood in the doorway, staring at his feet and trying to decide on whether he should leave or not.

He knew little of what happened with Guinevere; he had arrived to the castle two months after her departure and thus had never met her. He had never dared to ask Morgana or Arthur directly either so all he knew was what people were whispering: that Guinevere was Arthur's betrothed before he decided to break off the engagement and marry Morgana against his father's will. Some also stated that Guinevere's father did not actually die from a fever, but was killed by Arthur during a single combat, trying to defend his daughter's honor. Though Merlin had judged this idea preposterous and had banished it from his mind, sometimes it fought its way back in. As he had come to realize over the years, this family had secrets, _dreadful secrets_.

The servant raised his gaze to watch them. Morgana was curled up in Arthur's arms, their hands clasped so tight, and his nose buried in her hair; she seemed to finally let go.

_Nothing is real and eternal – nothing_, Merlin thought. _Just as a flower withers eventually, even the purest love has a bitter taste in the end._

He was about to leave when he met Arthur's eyes, and, without a word, he understood what he had to do. As he moved closer to the couple, the King slowly pulled away from Morgana and rose, leaving her at the hands of his servant.

Merlin squatted down and took her hand gently, as if she was made of glass. Morgana lifted her head, and her tears glowed in the sun like diamonds on her skin – an image of both exquisite beauty and excruciating pain.

He wanted to reach out for her, to embrace her and tell her that she was not alone – that as long as he was alive, she would never, never, have to be alone. But he refrained from doing so – as he had always done – knowing perfectly that it was not him she wished to hear those words from.

_If I could mend your heart, I would_, he wanted to tell her. But he didn't, and instead he said: "You're exhausted, my Lady. I'll take you back to your chambers."

She didn't resist as he helped her up. For the first time in her life, she just gave up. _What's the point in fighting when you know you will lose?_

Merlin put his hand on her back and pushed her delicately towards the exit. As he was about to close the door behind him, the servant turned around to cast one last glance at his friend. Arthur's lips moved in silence, and he could easily read "Thank you".

The door closed, leaving the King alone with his thoughts; and he had no other choice but to stare at the mess he had made, wondering if there was already a place kept in hell with his name on the seat.

Morgana and Merlin walked in silence for a while. She didn't need an escort, yet she didn't send him off, and the thought made him smile. He didn't dare to speak, for fear of scaring the moment away. He glanced at her a few times, though, but she was looking ahead, not paying any attention to him.

He tried to remember the first time he ever saw her, but the memory escaped him. It seemed so long ago. Was there already so much loneliness in her eyes? So much tiredness in her voice? So much bitterness in her heart? Surely not. Was it her beauty or her mind that had captured his heart? Probably both.

Suddenly she stopped walking and turned to face him, putting an end to his solitary reverie.

"Did you know about this, Merlin?" she asked accusingly, her features stern and hard.

"What?" he replied, confused.

"Well, you're one of Arthur's closest friends, surely he must have told you about Guinevere."

"No, he didn't," Merlin said to defend himself. "I swear, I didn't know anything about this."

She glared at him for a while, as if to test him, but he didn't flinch. When she realized he was telling the truth, her features softened, and the accusation in her eyes faded away.

"You know you can trust me, Morgana," he told her softly, as she was about to resume her walk. "If you ever need a friend, you have one in me."

She looked at him and, for a split second, Merlin wondered if she knew how much she meant to him. Did she even have the slightest idea?

"Thank you," she whispered. And he could see that she truly meant it.

He gave her a broad smile, and, despite the tears in her eyes, she returned it.

"Mother!" called a voice behind Morgana; and when she turned around, she saw Thomas running towards her, a large grin on his face.

With a brush of her hand, she tried to sweep the tears from her cheeks before he could see them, and when he reached her, she planted a fake smile on her face, before taking him in her arms.

"Hey you," she said dearly as she pressed him against her chest.

She broke the embrace, and cupped his cheek. A strange wave of nostalgia washed over her. He was the spitting image of his father: he had blond hair and large blue eyes and a slight bump seemed to form on his nose, just like Arthur. She could only hope he wouldn't inherit his father's worst flaws as well.

Merlin could see she was having a hard time controlling her emotions, the cracks in her smile were beginning to show and tears were threatening to fall, so he came to her rescue.

"What's that in your hand, Prince Thomas?" he asked with an excessively surprised face.

As desired, the little boy looked away from his mother and focused his attention on Merlin. The prince's smile widened as he raised his arm to show him his treasure.

"It's a sword!" Thomas exclaimed, highly proud of his new toy.

"Yes, I can see that, but it's so big," Merlin said with wide eyes. The "sword" was actually about 20 inches long and made out of wood, but the boy seemed so happy that he thought he'd play along. "That's a knight's sword!"

"I _am_ a knight," the little prince retorted as he started swinging it around with a more than uncertain precision. "Just like my father. Right, mother?"

Morgana ran a hand through his messy blond hair and smiled.

"Right," she replied. And as she leant closer to him, she whispered with a grin: "Don't tell your father I said that, but I bet you can beat him."

"Really?" Thomas asked, eyes wide open, innocence keeping him from seeing the irony in his mother's words.

"Really," she confirmed. "You're my little champion."

"Great!" Thomas shouted out ecstatic, as he moved away from his mother, chasing an invisible enemy.

Since the day he was born, Thomas was the most precious thing in Morgana's life, and she would do anything – _absolutely anything _– to protect him, even if it meant pretending everything was okay when her world was actually crumbling around her. She wanted to preserve his innocence at all costs, and assure him the happy youth Arthur and she never had the chance to know.

"You should get some sleep," Merlin advised her. "I'll take care of him."

She smiled at him, and put a hand on his arm.

"I don't know what I'd do without you, Merlin."

Those were simple words, there was no hidden meaning behind them, but still, he felt his heart flutter and his blood rush to his cheeks.

He watched her as she walked away, knowing that was all he could ever do. She didn't need his love – she didn't _want_ his love –, she just needed a friend.

Merlin let out a heavy sighed and turned to Thomas.

"I'm starving," he said lightly. "How about some breakfast?"

The corridors were filled with darkness, the only source of light being the candle in Morgana's hand, quickly burning out. Ignoring the pain caused by the cold and coarse tiles beneath her bare feet, her hasty walk turned into a run. Escorted by Merlin, she was heading straight to the throne room, never slowing, never talking, not even breathing, only hoping it wasn't too late.

Their race ended when they reached the so familiar wooden door. No sound could be heard from inside and that was not a good sign.

Morgana remained still for a short minute, lost in the burning waltz of the flames, her eyes fixed on the candle – almost completely consumed now. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake this feeling that once they opened this door, nothing would ever be the same.

Suddenly, a clang was heard from inside, like a sword meeting the ground, and the two friends shared a panicked look. The Queen passed the candlestick to Merlin and, gathering her courage, opened the large door.

She thought she had prepared herself for the worst, but even in the darkest corners of her mind, she hadn't been able to imagine that.

Arthur was standing right before her, eyes wide open – as if death was staring at him in the face. He seemed completely frozen in fear, unable to move or even open his mouth. He was trembling all over, trying hard to breathe as tears streamed down his pallid face.

With the same frightened expression on his face, the King turned to look at his wife, but soon, his eyes, as well as hers, flew to his blood-stained hands, all red and sticky. In an impulse of absolute disgust, he tried to wipe them on his shirt, but the blood wouldn't wash off.

Morgana looked around to find the cause of his terror, and it wasn't long until she did. On her left, in the haunting obscurity of the night, a prostrate body bathed in a crimson sea of blood, and not far from it, Arthur's sword, black and bloody as well, had been thrown to the ground. Her brain ordered her to look away, but her eyes refused to obey and forced her to stare at the lifeless corpse. The blood kept on spreading over the stone floor and Morgana could feel her legs shaking beneath her, threatening to fail her.

"Oh, Arthur," she let out. "What did you do?"

All she could do was watch as her husband turned hysteric, desperately trying to clean the blood off his hands. In vain. It clung to his skin, black and persistent, bearing witness to his crimes. He took a few steps backwards, trying to escape his sins, until he eventually met a wall and collapsed to the ground, letting his back slip against the stone.

Each one of his chocked sobs cut deep into Morgana's soul, like a knife in her heart, like a whip crashing on her bare skin, leaving lasting, and always so painful, bruises.

Morgana twisted in her sleep, her furrowed brow soaked with sweat, as the vision slithered into her mind, spitting its venom into the very depth of her being. Then, her eyes snapped open, and her lips parted to let out a silent scream.

A few minutes were needed for her to fully catch her breath and be able to form a coherent thought. She turned her head towards the window, which revealed a cloudless blue sky and a gleaming sun, contrasting with last night's downpour and showing once more that weather was only one of God's whims.

Morgana climbed from her bed and rearranged her dress – she hadn't bothered changing into her nightgown, knowing she wouldn't get much rest anyway. She had spent the last three hours trying to sleep, but every time she closed her eyes, she was kept awake by dreams and fickle visions.

When she sat at her dressing table to fix her hair, she was forced to contemplate her own reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were puffy, her lips were chapped, and she was even paler than usual. Truth be told, she had never looked worse, yet she couldn't bring herself to care.

_It wasn't supposed to be like this._

Arthur hadn't left the castle walls for almost an entire day, so, as soon as the occasion to finally enjoy some fresh air presented itself, he took it without a second of hesitation.

The walk between the throne room and the courtyard seemed endless, and despite the wintry temperature, he was suffocating in his chainmail. Sweat was pouring down his face, sticking his hair to his brow, and his hands were damp. He just needed to get out of here. He needed to breathe. He needed to find Morgana.

The King exited the castle by one of the secondary entrances on the eastern side of the building, and thus managed to avoid the crowd, or any people who could have required his attention. Once outside, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, filling his lungs with wet air and clearing his mind of any polluted thoughts.

This exit looked onto the training field and, as Arthur began a slow saunter towards it, he watched his knights practicing. Their features were tensed with pain, their muscles sore, and beads of sweat blended with their tears. _How he missed this_. The contact of the metal against his skin, the sound of the blade meeting the shield, the feeling of power as he swung the sword, the thrill of the battle. He barely had time to practice anymore – he was always so busy with councils and whenever he had some free time, he spent it with his son. The truth was, Arthur was not a thinker, nor was he particularly wise or diplomatic, he was a _warrior_. And sometimes, when sleep eluded him, he could hear the battlefield calling him at night, begging him to pick up his sword and do what he did best: fight. But he was not Prince anymore, he was King now, and fighting was no longer required of him, _ruling_ was.

Among the usual knights stood a little man, wearing a helmet far too big for him, and Arthur couldn't help but smile when he recognized him: Thomas. The prince tried to put the helmet back in place a few times but it kept falling over his eyes, and eventually, Leon took it off his head. The boy's face brightened when he caught sight of his father, watching him with a mocking look.

"Father!" Thomas shouted as he ran toward Arthur, a broad smile on his face. "Are you going to watch me fight?"

The boy was now standing at his father's feet, looking up at him with his big blue eyes, and Arthur just couldn't say no. He could never say no to him.

"Of course," he promised as he lifted him with ease and settled him on his shoulders. "But I fear my knights don't stand a chance against you."

"I've brought the sword you gave me," Thomas spoke as he clung to his father's hair to prevent an eventual fall.

The King let out a small laugh, remembering the sword in question.

"Good," he approved. "It will certainly do some damages."

Just for the fun of it, the little prince let go of his father's hair to put both of his hands on the King's eyes instead, and giggled. Arthur stretched out his arms and pretended to grope his way around, which made Thomas laugh twice as hard.

Eventually, Arthur's hands touched something. A face. He tried to guess who it was but couldn't find any distinctive trait about the mysterious person. It was a man, though – that he could tell – and he was wearing a cloth scarf. A neckerchief, to be more precise.

"Merlin," he growled as he moved his son's hands away from his eyes and put him down on the ground.

"Sire," Merlin replied with a grin.

When Thomas touched the ground, Arthur crouched before him, to adjust himself to his height, and said: "Remember what I told you?"

"All it takes is one well-aimed blow," the little prince repeated like a lesson he had learned by heart.

"Exactly," the King said with a smile. "Now, why don't you go teach Lancelot how a knight really fights?"

Thomas gave him a wide grin and began to run back to the training field when Arthur stopped him.

"I love you," he said.

Being a boy, Thomas thought fit not to answer, and addressed him a large smile instead. When he reached the group of knights, he started to repeatedly hit Lancelot's leg with the flat of his "sword" – which amused him more than it hurt him.

"Look at that, Merlin. He fights just like you," joked Arthur.

But the servant didn't laugh – not that he didn't enjoy the usual banter with his King, he did – but now was not the right time.

"Morgana's here," he informed his master. "She just woke up."

Arthur's eyes searched for her, and found her easily: she was sitting on a bench, a few meters away, and watched Thomas play, a fake smile planted on her face, as always it seemed those last few days.

"I should go talk to her," he said before he moved away from his servant and took a few steps in her direction.

Merlin had always been fiercely loyal to Arthur; he believed in the world he was trying to create, in the values he wanted to transmit, and in the causes he was ready to fight for. Truth be told, Merlin would do pretty much anything for his King, not only because it was his destiny, but because he was his friend, and he strongly believed that one day, the five kingdoms would make one thanks to Arthur.

But at that exact moment, the servant felt a hint of disappointment. How could he make her suffer like this? She, who stood by him through anything, and had supported him during his darkest hours. Did he take pleasure in it? Who was trying to punish by pushing her away? Her or himself? Merlin could remember a time where Arthur would have done everything in his power to keep her safe and happy. But now, he had turned into an embittered, angry, broken, blind, and totally self-destructive man, and though the servant had always considered himself as a moral compass for his master, he felt his King was so lost that no indication could ever get him back on track.

"You don't deserve her," Merlin blurted out as Arthur walked away.

The King stopped dead in his tracks, and turned to his friend.

"With all due respect, of course," the servant mumbled, hating himself for having spoken so openly.

But Arthur didn't blame him, nor did he even seem angry, he simply remained silent for a while and kept his gaze fixed on the other man, his face a mask of impassivity.

"You're right, Merlin," he said, pain audible in his voice. "I don't."

The wizard was stunned by this heartfelt confession. The King was a secretive man, he never talked about his feelings and had become very good at hiding them – even from his wife. To finally get a glimpse of what hid in his heart was something he had never expected.

"I don't deserve any of this," Arthur added before resuming his walk.

With those words, Merlin felt he had learnt more about his master than in six years of service, like he had finally discovered the mystery behind the great man, the answer to every question he ever had. And for an instant, he couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

Morgana had noticed Arthur's presence the moment Thomas had run to him, but had done her best not to look at him – she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of thinking she actually cared. It became a lot harder, though, when he came and sat by her side.

He didn't move, nor speak, for a while, and she began to wonder if he ever would. Finally, his hand reached for hers, but she moved it before he could touch it, a cold gesture that didn't surprise him.

"How are you feeling?" Arthur inquired.

"I'll be well again soon," she replied. "Every aching wound is meant to heal eventually, right?"

At her last words, memories came rushing to the surface, and a strange feeling of melancholia overwhelmed him. He remembered a particularly bloody joust, and a rather worried Morgana. "Are you gonna be alright?" she had asked with obvious concern in her voice as she patted his chest with a wet cloth to remove the blood. "Every aching wound is meant to heal eventually," he had replied, wanting to prove her how brave he could be.

"Did you get any sleep at all?" he asked, his eyes gazing away in the distance.

"Hardly," she answered, though she doubted he actually cared.

"Nightmares?"

"No," she said, and finally, her gaze met his. "_Memories."_

For a brief instant, his eyes screamed of despair as he recognized the meaning of her words. He knew exactly which memory she was talking about – a memory he had tried to chase away but that kept haunting him, untiring, relentless, and still _oh_ so vivid. Sometimes, he swore he could still feel the blood on his hands, red and warm, the indelible mark of an unforgivable crime.

"I have hurt you… so many times … in so many ways." Arthur whispered, his eyes fixed on her, breaking the unbearable silence that had settled. "And yet, you're still here. Why?"

Morgana closed her eyes, and a tear, until now imprisoned in one of her eyelashes, rolled down her cheek, all the way down to her jaw, before it dropped to the floor.

"I've wanted to leave you," she confessed softly. "But every time I tried… something kept holding me back."

She did her best to hold back her tears but her voice broke over the words as it filled with sorrow and pain.

"I guess, somehow… I never stopped hoping that we could fix it."

Unlike Arthur, Morgana was not a believer. She did not believe in destiny, and she refused to hide behind empty consolations like "_it wasn't meant to be_". Life was not a quiet stream, life was a battlefield, and you had to fight your way through it. That's what she believed in. There was no such thing as fate, there was just her, and life was a war she was ready to wage. Beauty was her armour, intelligence was her shield, and will was her sword, _sharp and deadly_.

"What happened to us?" she asked, without really expecting an answer.

And maybe, there was no answer. She had spent sleepless nights thinking about it, about that fateful night, and what their lives might have been like if only she had found Arthur sooner. The same question had been bothering him for a while too, but unlike Morgana, he had always come to the same conclusion: they were doomed from the start.

"I wish we could go back to the exact point where it all went wrong," she said. "We're sinking like stones. Can't you see it?"

He didn't answer right away, and the silence between them stretched on for what felt like hours.

"You know I love you," he finally murmured.

"And you know how much I wish it was enough."

"_You're killing me_," he sighed.

They didn't add anything, knowing there was nothing left to say. Morgana tried to forget about the sound of the blades and focused on the reassuring melody of the trees swaying in the wind in perfect harmony.

What she did next was something Arthur could have never anticipated: slowly, she moved closer to him, then, with all the delicacy in the world, she took his hand in hers, and squeezed it. He had expected anger, and hate – that's what he deserved, after all –, but Morgana gave him nothing but kindness. He couldn't help but think that life must have been really cruel to give this perfect creature such a beast for a husband.

He drew their entangled hands closer to his mouth, and when they met his lips – lips which had long been ignoring how to laugh and had long forgotten how to smile –, he laid a kiss on her skin.

The sun was almost down and Morgana was pacing up and down the corridors, heading for Gaius' house to pick up her sleeping draught. Usually, Merlin brought it to her, but since Arthur was busy and Thomas had gone riding with a few knights, she could use the old man's company. Besides, a little stroll would do her good.

She was about to exit the castle when she ran into Guinevere, coming from the east of the castle, where her bedchambers were located.

"Guinevere," Morgana greeted her through clenched teeth.

"Morgana," Gwen replied, without bothering with the formalities – after all, they were _old friends_, weren't they?

The Queen resumed her walk, desperately trying to escape this awkward moment, but Guinevere followed her, visibly determined to rub it in.

"I forgot how beautiful the castle looks at this time of year," she said in a light tone, a grin plastered on her face. "It feels good to be back."

Morgana fought the urge to slap her, but she controlled herself, and simply kept on walking, hoping Gwen would just stop talking. But, of course, she didn't.

"Oh, and I've seen Lady Mary! Poor girl, time does not look good on her. She used to be so beautiful. I remember men drooling over her._ Including Arthur_."

Suddenly, it was like all of Morgana's good will evaporated into thin air, and, running out of patience, she turned on her heels.

"Why are you here?" she snapped, feeling a surge of anger boiling up inside her.

"Arthur invited me," Guinevere replied, as her smile widened.

She had suspected that she was back at Arthur's request, but she had to admit that hearing it from Gwen's mouth was a blow to her ego.

"Are you not happy to see me?" Guinevere asked, as she cupped Morgana's cheek.

"What do you want?" the Queen cried in anguish as she swept off her friend's hand with vigor.

"Revenge."

"So, that's it? This is just another game to you?"

"Isn't it always?" the other woman replied, her annoying smile never leaving her face.

From the moment they first laid eyes on each other, the relationship between the two women hadn't ceased to vacillate between love and hate, sisterhood and jealousy, as if they were born to be rivals. What started as an innocent game between two girls soon turned into a vicious competition. _No rules_, that was their only rule. Guinevere had always been more devious than Morgana – backstabbing, scheming, lying, she was ready to use any means necessary to get what she wanted, especially when it meant ripping it from her friend's hands. "If there's something I've learned," she had spoken once, "It's that nobody gives you power. _You just take it_."

"I don't want to play anymore!" Morgana shouted, before she realized all eyes were upon them. The palace was already awash with rumors, the royal family's reputation had been seriously tarnished, and she couldn't afford to make such a spectacle of herself in public.

"This is my life you're toying with," she whispered, making sure nobody could here. "This may mean nothing to you, but it means _everything_ to me."

Guinevere's large grin faded away, and only a faint hint of a smile remained on her lips. And as she leaned closer to Morgana's ear, she murmured in a voice so low that even the Queen had trouble hearing: "Everything you have, you took it from me."

Morgana was about to put her back in her place when loud voices rose throughout the crowd.

"Somebody goes fetch Gaius!" shouted one of them. "NOW!"

Screams were heard, and the people standing in the courtyard began to get out of the way, parting to create a perfect path, but still, Morgana couldn't fathom what was happening.

When she caught sight of Leon and Gwaine, who should have been out riding with Thomas, she ran over to them and grabbed the new knight's arm.

"What is going on?" she asked, growing more and more worried.

Instead of answering, the two men shared a rather panicked look, which scared her all the more.

"You take care of her I'm going to find Arthur," Leon told Gwaine, before he walked away, ignoring her previous question completely. He was half-way up the stairs when he turned around and added: "Don't let her look."

Morgana was staring at Gwaine, waiting for an explanation, but he didn't seem inclined to give her one. At least not yet.

"We should go inside, my Lady," he advised her, as he slowly pushed her towards the entrance.

"I'm not going anywhere until somebody tells me what happened!" she shouted, spinning out of control. She locked her gaze in his, as if trying to steal the truth she was longing to hear from a simple look.

Gwaine sighed heavily, and ran a hair through his messy hair. He didn't want to be the one to tell her, he didn't want to be the one to break her heart – and he shouldn't be – but she was looking at him straight in the eyes, and he knew he had to say something, anything. She would not give up.

"I'm so sorry…" he whispered, his eyes full of compassion.

"About what?" Morgana asked in a trembling voice, desperate to find out but fearing what she might discover.

Gwaine shifted uncomfortably in his chainmail and eased a finger inside the tight collar. He was not good at this. He had never been good at this. His entire life, he had tried to escape tragedy, and thanks to his naturally joyful spirit – and to alcohol –, he had done a pretty good job until now, but today, tragedy had caught up with him, and there was no way out. Not anymore.

"There's been an accident…" Gwaine finally announced, gathering his courage.

Those few words were enough for Morgana to understand, and they were certainly enough to break her heart. He tried to approach her, but she took a few steps backwards, and shook her head, refusing to believe what she had just heard.

"No…" she breathed, locking herself in denial. She tried to contain her despair, knowing that if she cried that first tear, the tears would never stop raining down.

When Gwaine's eyes flew to the crowd, Morgana followed his gaze, only to see her worst nightmare come alive. There, in the middle of the courtyard, Percival was walking at slow pace, his eyes jaded and sorrowful, and in his arms laid the prostrate body of Thomas Pendragon, such a tiny thing compared to the imposing knight.

The Queen ran to her son, praying for him to be alive, but before she could reach him, strong arms encircled her, keeping her from getting any closer.

"Close your eyes," Arthur murmured as he held her even tighter.

Morgana did as she was told, and buried her face in his chest. She kept hoping that she would wake up, that her eyes would fly open and she would be back in her chambers, but, this time, it was not a dream. It was, without a shadow of a doubt, reality. _A very cruel reality_.

* * *

><p><em><strong>So what did you think, guys? I'm sorry for the huge cliffhanger but i have to keep you interested :p I tried to show a nicer side to Arthur because he's not a complete monster xD And since many people asked me too, i included more Thomas scenes and gave a little more screen time to Merlin. I know my Gwen as nothing to do with the Gwen we know, but i think she's better like this :) And Angel would be amazing in this role, don't you think? Anyway, please review. The more reviews i get, the more guilty i feel about not updating more often. And guilt makes me write faster xD<strong>_


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